


A Wilde Ride

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: ColdWave Week 2017 [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Books, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: [Day 4: Alternate Earth]Earth 100: Len's father was killed on a job, and Mick managed to wake his family in time. They meet in a bookshop.





	A Wilde Ride

When Len was fourteen, his dad got killed on a job gone wrong. He shivered over his corpse, even though he felt unbearably hot from head to toe. As Lewis’ blood was washed down the street by the rain, the cops came wailing.

Len was let go without anything put on his record. No priors, they said. Just a kid forced into it by his dirty cop father.

Funny that Lewis’ friends on the force didn’t stand by him now.

Len was taken home to his mama and sister. Sierra’s eyes flickered between him and the dark uniforms. She always said the men in blue looked like gilded shadows, and Len couldn’t help seeing ‘em that way. When she held her arms out, stiff but just enough, Len ran to her. She was cool around his feverish skin. He still remembered how he’d buried his face in her chest and almost cried.

The officers’ voices were muffled despite his ears not being covered. His mama replied. Her heart was beating fast against her son’s nose. Her body trembled with his.

They were both thinking the same thing. Len just knew it.

_Free._

As soon as the cops were gone, Lisa murmured, “Lenny? Where’s dad?”

Len and Sierra looked at each other. And they laughed bubbling, hysterical laughs.

Sierra got on the phone almost immediately. She cooked a big dinner and let them eat it in front of the TV while she talked to someone she called Connie.

“Dad’s gone,” Len kept whispering to Lisa, “Dad’s not comin’ back.”

Every time he did, little Lisa would squeeze his elbow, her black eye widening as if hearing the words for the first time.

That night, they all squeezed onto Lisa’s bed, huddled together with their mama in the middle. Her pretty brown skin caught the moon’s silver sheen, making her glow like a star.

“We’re gettin’ outta here,” she whispered to them, almost wildly as if she thought Lewis could still hear her. “You hear me? My friend Connie’s gonna help us. I’ll get a job, and we’ll make our own way.”

Lisa cried quietly. Len felt his own eyes blur. He didn’t know why, because he couldn’t feel anything past an overwhelming writhing in his gut, like an animal throwing itself against its cage and the cage actually crashing down.

Sierra kissed both their heads. Her cheeks were wet too.

“You hear me?” she kept saying, “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

 

The house was sold. Sierra drove ‘em to Keystone’s suburbs, where her friend Constance had a blue house. Constance’s husband had died a couple years back, and she had two kids who were polite but matched Len’s suspicious stares.

“Guest room ain’t big,” Constance said, “but the bed should be enough.”

Sierra hugged her, tall and wiry next to Constance’s fuller, shorter frame. When Len looked at the woman, he was reminded of Lisa dancing in front of one of her shows. _I’m a little tea pot, short and stout_.

“It’s good to see you, honey,” Constance whispered, “It’s damn good to see you.”

Sierra nodded silently into her shoulder.

 

One day, Mickey Bridgforth, Constance’s oldest boy, started laughing. His white teeth gleamed brighter against his black skin, and his honey brown eyes warmed.

In another room, Constance and Sierra were laughing together. Mickey was imitating his mama’s friendly voice.

So Len imitated his.

Lisa and Teddy, both still little and big-eyed, blinked at them, then each other. They starting laughing too.

Mickey waved his hand, knowing better than to pat Len’s shoulder. “We should be friends, right? Our mamas are friends.”

As if it was easy as that.

Maybe it was.

“Never had a friend before,” Len blurted.

Mickey thrust out his hand. “Come on, then!”

Len had been filling out some from getting full meals every day, but his fingers were still bony in Mickey’s. The boys squeezed hard as they could.

Mickey tugged him to the back porch. “Wanna play with my action figures?”

Len found he did.

 

Len still woke up wide-eyed and panting, but now, there were no fists coming for him.

“It’s okay, baby,” Sierra could tell him as she kissed his cheeks, “It’s okay. He can’t get you no more. I promise.”

Those nights, Len couldn’t stop crying.

 

Once Sierra got the money, she moved back to Central, this time in a cozy apartment. But they exchanged visits with Constance and her kids, and Sierra’s dad came too, keeping the tradition of driving his grandkids to the Motorcar and letting them help him at his ice cream truck.

Len and Lisa went back to school. Len got a liking to studying buildings.

Everything had changed.

* * *

Len loved book cafés. Nobody but the barista talked to you, and the screen he’d put on his laptop put off any curious eyes. The whole place smelled like wood, coffee, and books, big windows letting the sunshine in. It was quiet but for little exchanges at the register and whispering of turning pages.

Len did his best work in the privacy of his office, but his sister said he needed to get out more. He shot a few emails out, read a few more, then took a book from his bag.

 _It was a hot afternoon in late summer, Clara—_ voices hissed from the shelves to Len’s left. _Clara was alone minding Nancy’s baby. Thinking how_ —“You dumbass, it’s the simplest thing!”

Len sighed through his nose and marked his place. He left his corner and walked quietly to the books. He either listened in or be distracted. Damn thievin’ habits never left him.

He walked down until he passed the two people. One was a woman with red brown hair pulled in a swishing ponytail. The other was a big guy who stared at his shoes. His green polo shirt didn’t look right on him.

Len walked to the Crime section a little ways down.

“Just read the damn letters on the shelf!” the woman snapped, “What, you can’t read?”

The man muttered roughly, “I was just lookin’ at the other ones.”

“Got distracted, you mean. Always gettin’ distracted.” The woman huffed. “Get back to work, dumbass. I can’t believe I let you work here. Things I do for family, I swear.”

She stormed off, only slowing when seeing a customer. Then she was sweet as anything.

Len picked a random book and went to the guy. He didn’t like it when family called each other names. Started bad shit.

“Hey,” he said to the guy’s slumped shoulders. Dark blue eyes blinked at him, a touch startled. “Would you recommend this one? I need a new book to read.”

He kept his smile small but nice as he could. The man didn’t seem used to that either.

“Uh. Haven’t read it,” he grunted.

Len shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll take anything you recommend—” he looked at the nametag, “—Mick.”

Mick looked at the books in his hands. His meaty fingers seemed to eat the pages. This guy was huge.

Len suddenly thought about how he hadn’t flirted with anyone since college.

“Well,” Mick said, slow and unsure, “I—I don’t usually have time for—” he cleared his throat.

Len tilted his head. “Ever read Oscar Wilde?”

“Oscar…oh, uh. My sister did. Didn’t tell me about it, though.”

Probably thought the _dumbass_ wouldn’t understand. Len locked his smile in place. “He was a snarky bisexual in a sexually repressed age. Man after my own heart.”

Mick’s throat ticked. “Yeah?”

“His very existence was absolutely _scandalous_. Last words were ‘Either the wallpaper goes or I do.’”

A tiny huff of a laugh peeked through.

Len jerked his chin at the Fiction section. “I’ll show you.”

Mick shifted on his feet. “I…I gotta do this first.”

“Oh, I’m sure your sister wouldn’t mind if you took a moment to help a customer.” Len smirked at Mick’s bewildered look. “Your head’s shaved, but your eyebrows have the same color as her hair. I see her around almost every time I come in here.”

Mick’s eyes narrowed, but he licked his lips and nodded. When Len sauntered to W, Mick shuffled behind.

Something clicked in the back of Len’s head. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he liked hearing Mick’s step. Never liked having somebody at his back before, not since his sister. Same thing happened when they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Wilde’s books.

“Name’s Len, by the way,” he said, “Leonard Snart.”

“Mick Rory,” Mick replied, then promptly ducked his head. “But, uh, guess you already knew that.”

Len tapped the nametag. “Doesn’t give a last name.”

They looked at each other.

“Say,” Len said, “we ever meet before?”

Mick shook his head. “Would’ve remembered.”

Len smirked. He’d completely forgotten about the book in his hand. Wasn’t easy to make him forget things.

“Good to meetcha now, then. Mick.”

Mick’s smile looked like bared teeth. “Good t’meetcha too, Len.”

Len ended up writing his number on Mick’s palm like they were sixteen. “Hope you like Dorian Gray. It’s a Wilde ride.”

When Mick snorted, Len knew he’d chosen right.


End file.
